Magistrate: He must have found escape difficult—he is trying to brazen it out. A convict in the Andaman Islands tried the same game, but he could not escape my system! Stand aside—Don’t go far—have the handcuffs ready. (He walks up to Bartley, folds his arms, and stands before him.) Here, my man, do you know anything of John Smith?
Bartley: Of John Smith! Who is he, now?
Policeman: Jack Smith, sir—Red Jack Smith!
Magistrate: (Coming a step nearer and tapping him on the shoulder.) Where is Jack Smith?
Bartley: (With a deep sigh, and shaking his head slowly.) Where is he, indeed?
Magistrate: What have you to tell?
Bartley: It is where he was this morning, standing in this spot, singing his share of songs—no, but lighting his pipe—scraping a match on the sole of his shoe——
Magistrate: I ask you, for the third time, where is he?
Bartley: I wouldn’t like to say that. It is a great mystery, and it is hard to say of any man, did he earn hatred or love.
Magistrate: Tell me all you know.